‘It has sub-titles.’ Jack says in defence of the French film industry.
‘That’s even worse.’ I laugh. ‘You’re joking right?’
Jack shakes his head and I feel, well, I’m not sure quite what I feel really. Let down, abandoned like an unwanted puppy three days after Christmas? Angry that my best friend who I do everything with, has decided I’m surplus to requirement now that he’s met some floozy woman who is named after a bloody flower.
‘You’ll like Jasmine. You’re welcome to come to see the film.’ Jack adds by way of compensation, but it only reminds me that I don’t have someone of my own to take me to see a French film.
‘No, you’re all right.’ I say sullenly.
I know it’s not like Jack and me are ever going to become an item, or anything. I mean, Jack and me! Ha! And I don’t know why I feel like this, but I do. Maybe it’s because we have done so much together that I’m over-protective of him? Like a worried parent, I wonder if he’s going to be OK when he goes out with this…this jezebel, whoever she is. Regardless, I feel a bit put out that he’s now got someone and I haven’t and I will now probably have to spend Saturday night listening to Amy tell me all about her new gorgeous boyfriend, that’s if she’s not arranged to go to Scotland this weekend of course. Why does everyone else have a significant other and I don’t?
‘I’ve never reacted like this when you’ve had boyfriends,most of them were dickheads but did I say anything?’ Jack protests.
‘Yes you did Jack, as it happens. Or have you forgotten about the time you texted James from my mobile and told him that he had BO and his breath smelt like a ten day old haddock? Or the time you called Andrew and told him that I had been rushed to hospital with some horrible tropical disease, and to not go to the hospital because it was touch and go, just because you wanted someone to watch the latest Steven Seigal film with. Which, by the way, in my opinion, was really crap. You made me believe he’d stood me up so I never called him again. For all he knows he probably thinks I never made it and am ten foot under right now!’
‘Oh yeah, that was really funny.’ Jack laughs. ‘And you’re right…’ Jack says.
‘I am?’
‘Yeah, I have to agree, it wasn’t his best film to date.’
Instead of a punch on the arm, Jack is rewarded with a sharp poke of my fork to his left hand.
‘Ouch! That really hurt!’ He whines.
‘Good.’ I huff.
‘Look, I tell you what, why don’t we do something together Sunday night? Jas has to work then. She’s a nurse. We could rent a movie if you like. One of your choice this time.’ Jack says trying to win me over into liking his new… whatever she is.
‘Whatever.’ I shrug, assuming the identity of a stroppy teenager who has just been told she’s been grounded for a week.
CHAPTER NINE
My Saturday night is spent in McDonalds of all places with Amy and Kenzie. I think Amy felt a bit sorry for me and invited me out. Well, when I say invited me out, she actually asked me to come and watch her at work. When I say work, Amy doesn’t actually work as such; she just walks around in a bossy manner, bossing poor, students around all evening.
‘Anyway, I thought you said that hell would freeze over the day you and Jack became more than best friends?’ Amy says as she passes by with a Happy Meal box and a Big Mac in her hands, and plonks it down if front of two teenagers. ‘Sorry for the delay,’ she hisses at them -Amy hates teenagers more than she hates students. She winks at Kenzie, who I have to say, lives up to all the gorgeousness that Amy has told me about him. He is sitting next to me, doing his best to look happy at the prospect of spending his Saturday night in a fast-food outlet.
‘No! God I’m not saying I fancy Jack. I mean, ewww Amy! That doesn’t even come into the equation. The fact of the matter is, it’s me. You’ve got Kenzie. Jack has this Jasmine whatever her name is, and me? Who do I have? Saturday was always our fun night. We have always done something on a Saturday night. It’s like… well, it’s the law. It’s something we’ve always done and this floozy pops up and clicks her fingers and suddenly Jack is spending our Saturday nights watching bloody French films.’ I say between mouthfuls of chicken nuggets. That’s the best part of having a best friend who works at a fast food restaurant - you can eat as many chicken nuggets with sweet and sour sauce as you like.
‘Well you can always come out with me and Kenzie later on if you like, can’t she hun? … Darren! I’m not paying you to sit around and talk to your girlfriend all night you know!’ Amy shouts at a youth in a burgundy cap who is obviously so in love that he’s forgotten what he’s there for.
Don’t you just hate it when people in full coupledom mode make that kind of ahh-poor-single-no-one-wants-her type of gestures?
‘No, you’re all right. I’ve got some paperwork to do anyway,’ I say trying to sound as if I am very, very busy.
‘Where are the two of you going anyway?’ I know that this will instantly take the focus off me and my sad, lonely life. It’s all Amy can talk about these days and I’m sure I know more about Kenzie than he knows about himself. Amy pulls one of those in-the-first-throes-of-love looks, not too unlike Darren the teenager actually.
‘We’re going to try that new club in Bristol, aren’t we darling?’ she gushes.
‘You’re welcome to tag along if you want, Sam?’ Kenzie drawls in his Ewan McGregor-esque accent. He’s very good looking and I would guess a couple of years older than Amy and me. He’s also very kind and charming, but I still feel as though everyone in McDonalds feels sorry for me.
‘Oh, show Sammy our holiday snaps of us on the boat, darling. Kenzie’s dad is a professional photographer, isn’t he, hun? ’ Amy says as she hands over a stack of prints of her and Kenzie all loved-up on the beach, of her and Kenzie all loved-up in the restaurant, of her and Kenzie… well you get the idea, her and Kenzie all loved-up basically.
Kenzie opens the pouch and produces a stack of photographs and passes them over for me to look at while Amy goes into the kitchen to sort out a problem with the milkshake-mixing machine.
‘And that’s Amy at the surf-bar. She looks cute in that one, don’t you think?’ Kenzie drawls.
God, why oh why did I come here tonight? I feel like a right old Nancy-no-mates and looking at these photos is not making me feel any better right now.
‘So, how’s it all going in the world of psychic-fraud-hotlines then?’ Amy asks when she returns to the table. She’s still looking gorgeous despite having tackled the milkshake machine into submission.
‘Will you keep your voice down?’ I hiss. ‘It’s not a fraud. It’s a genuine service.’ After all, I am providing a service to people and so far I haven’t had any complaints. In fact how does anyone actually know that I’m not psychic?
‘You know I’m only joking, hun. I’m very proud of you. It’s a good way of earning money whether you’re psychic or not.’ Amy laughs, and I guess she’s right.
‘Well Miracle says….’
‘Miracle!’ she screams.
‘That’s her name, well…I think it is… Anyway, Miracle says that everyone has psychic abilities, you just have to tap into them.’ I say trying to sound as though I have the faintest idea of what I’m talking about.
‘Well, if that’s what makes you happy and fulfilled.’
‘Have you been reading those self-help books again?’ I ask.
Amy nods, shamefaced.
Amy has grown into one of those women blessed with tanned flawless skin, a thin waist to match her thin thighs and a huge pair of boobs – basically, every man’s dream. She is also a closet philosopher. Although she would never admit it, Amy has an entire bookcase full-to-bursting with self-help books with intriguing titles such as, Improve your Self-Esteem and Be Happy, Stay Happy. Amy’s latest attempt to lead the perfect life is with the help of a book (with a free CD) called Happiness and Fulfilment Forever.
You can’t blame her. If I had a mother who had spent th
e majority of my childhood leaving me with neighbours and friends in favour of travelling on cruise ships, I think I would need a few self-help books myself. Thankfully my own mother didn’t become an independent woman until she had dedicated 18 years of her life to us children.
‘Right, I’ve got to get going,’ I say, ‘paper work to do and all that.’ Again, trying to sound like I’m a very important person. The fact that I’m going to stop at Blockbuster on the way home and get a huge box of popcorn, a DVD and a box of Roses, and slob out on the sofa with Missy is beside the point.
Amy gives me a big hug and kisses me on both cheeks – something she learned on a weekend trip to Paris and has since adopted it as her way of saying, I love you and goodbye.
‘Have fun you two and I’ll call you tomorrow.’ I say, blowing them a kiss.
‘Oh we will and don’t work too hard sweetie,’ she calls back, before berating a couple of teenagers for sharing a cup of coke.
When I get back to my flat I discover three messages flashing on my answer phone. One is from my little brother Matt to tell me that he is coming to see me next weekend – well, what he actually says, between giggles (Mum obviously filled him in on my new job) and saying things like, ‘You probably know what I’m going to say; you being a fortune teller and all that, but can I crash at yours next weekend, Sam?’ Oh yes, that’s very funny Matt. Not.
Actually, I get on very well with my little brother. Despite being a complete nerd, he’s really quite worldly wise for all his 23 years. Even when he was at school, he decided he was never going to work for anyone else and would make sure that he made a lot of money doing what he enjoyed doing. Matt was the one who held the family together when Dad died. Matt was the one who arranged the funeral, and it was Matt who was the one whose shoulder everyone cried on at the service. To this day, he hasn’t spoken about losing Dad at such a young age and I don’t think he ever will.
Paul on the other hand, despite being 28, and the oldest out of the three of us, is the one who always gets himself into trouble and somehow, always manages to get someone to get him out of it again. You wouldn’t trust Paul to look after your hamster let alone anything else - he would probably sell it on E-bay given half a chance. I do admire Paul though because he is thick skinned and doesn’t give a toss what people think of him. So long as he has his sun, sea and surf, he’s happy. He keeps telling me I should give up my flat and move to Australia with him, but his pace of life is way too chaotic for my liking. Paul’s idea of life is to live one day at a time – literally. For example, he doesn’t go to a supermarket to get his food, but manages to blag free meals from the local beach restaurants. He doesn’t do any washing. Instead, he surfs in his clothes and then lays them out in the sun to dry. Paul doesn’t do any kind of planning whatsoever, and he’s happy with life like that.
I remember when we were kids, it was Matt who would always stick up for me whenever I needed sticking up for, which was quite often. I was a bit of weed actually, and if Amy wasn’t there, it was Matt who I would go running to if someone in the year above me so much as looked at me. Paul was hardly ever at school to take much notice whether I was getting my dinner money nicked or not. He only ever did one full week at secondary school, and that was because he had a crush on some buxom blonde in the sixth form. He soon got tired of getting up early in the morning to catch the school bus, and no amount of ample bosom was going to make up for it.
The other two messages were from Miracle asking me to ring her back as soon as I got in. It’s supposed to be my night off and I bet someone has rung in sick. To be honest, I don’t feel up to talking to strangers tonight. Hmmm, ring Miracle for work, or stuff my face with chocolate and popcorn and recline flat out on the sofa watching Johnny Depp in Chocolat? No contest really. I unplug the phone and opt for slobbering over the delicious Johnny Depp.
By the time the film has finished, I have popcorn stuck to my dressing gown, chocolate smeared around my mouth and tear stains down my cheeks – always a stickler for a romantic, me.
It’s not until I plug the phone back in the following morning, that I realise I now have six messages from Miracle. Having fallen asleep after the film and woken up as sticky as a six year old with a candyfloss, I decided to have a bath and leave the phone unplugged. I was half hoping Jack had left a message to say that he was sorry for abandoning me and our usual fun-filled Saturday nights, and that he had dumped Pansy, or whatever her name is, and would I please forgive him for being an inconsiderate pig. As I lay in the bath surrounded by white bubbles, I smugly thought that he had probably left several messages on my answer phone by now, and at least three on my voice mail.
He hadn’t, of course. The only messages on the machine were from Miracle. The first asking me to call her back. The second asking me where I was, and to please call her as soon as I got this message. The third was Miracle repeating what she had already said on message one and… well, you get the idea. At 8.30 in the morning I wonder if it’s too early to return her call? If someone called in sick she probably had to work last night and wouldn’t have got to bed before four this morning. Whilst I am pondering this thought the phone rings again, making me jump.
‘Hello?’
‘Samantha, where have you been?’
It’s Miracle, sounding mightily pissed-off with me. I’m tempted to point out that she is the professional psychic here, so surely she should know that I was busy covering myself in popcorn and chocolate last night, but the desperation in her voice prevents me from doing so, and the fact that although I’ve never met her, I quite like Miracle.
‘I was at home watching a movie, why?’
‘Why didn’t you answer your phone? I’ve been ringing all night.’ Miracle asks.
‘I thought you were calling for me to work.’ I say sheepishly.
‘Work? No, well, not for last night anyway.’ Miracle says. ‘Look, I’ll get straight to the point. How do you fancy being on the radio?’
‘Me? Radio? Doing what?’ I think she has gone a bit mad.
‘Well, I’ve been asked by a radio station to do a live psychic phone in and I can’t do it – I’m going to see a flat in Brighton and I thought, since you are one of our best psychics and…’
‘Me?’ I almost choke on my Weetabix. I daren’t tell Miracle that half the stuff that I tell the callers, I tend to make up as I go along.
‘You’re the only reader our callers phone specifically to speak to, Samantha, so you must be doing something right.’
‘But where is this radio station and what do I have to do?’ I’m actually panicking a bit now. I mean it’s one thing to chat away to strangers in your living room, but quite another to have your conversation broadcasted on radio to the entire nation, isn’t it?
‘Oh, it’s really easy, Sam. You’ll be asked to go to your local studio where they will link you up with all their other stations and people call in, just like what you’ve been doing on the phone lines.’
‘Only it will be live and on air to thousands of people,’ I remind her.
‘Well, yes, but…’
‘And may I ask when this radio call might be?’ I ask, knowing what Miracle is about to say next.
‘Um, this lunchtime.’ I can feel her wince as she says it.
‘What? This lunchtime? As in today? As in just four hours away?’ I say, my voice getting higher and higher.
‘You’ll be fine, sweetie. Just do what you’ve been doing all these weeks and you’ll swing it, no problem. You need to go to Town FM in Weston-super-Mare, and be there by 11.45. You’ll be great,’ she assures me.
‘No problem? You’re giving me just three hours notice to prepare for a live phone-in and you’re saying it’s no problem? Oh I don’t think I can do it, Miracle. I really don’t.’ And I don’t. I mean I only started doing this so that I could get a bit of money to pay the bloody rent! These are real people, on real radio. I know the people I talk to on the phone lines are real, but well… they’re not the same, are t
hey?
‘Look, Sam. I know you’ve only been in the job for a short time, but in that time people have come to respect you and they know you are for real. I’ve had so many people call and say they want to speak with you and refuse to take a reading unless you’re available. I’ve come across a lot of readers in my time and believe me, I’ve never had such a high response to anyone else in this way. You are naturally gifted Samantha. I know you don’t think you are, and you don’t think you can do it, but trust me, you can. And besides, you have to because it’s your fault that I’ve got to go to Brighton to view a house.’
‘My fault? Why me?’
‘Because it was you who said that I would be living by the sea, remember?’ she laughs. I did, didn’t I? I’d forgotten all about that.
‘Well… I…’
‘Please Sam?’
‘Oh, God. OK, but just this once and if anything goes wrong, and I end up a laughing stock, it will be all your fault.’ I say. Oh why, oh why do I give in so easily? I ask myself.
‘Oh, Sam, you’re a darling.’
CHAPTER TEN
Having been briefed by Miracle as to what to say, and more importantly, what not to say, for example that someone is about to suffer an untimely death, I sit nervously in the foyer of Town FM radio station, awaiting my meeter and greeter to come and meet and greet me. The walls are lined with minor celebrities with cheesy smiles, who have all appeared on the radio station - some so minor that I haven’t got a clue who they might be.
There’s a woman I vaguely recognise from Blue Peter, I think. Oh, and there’s Jordan aka Katie Price, with the chap who sang Mysterious Girl. There’s a bloke with a moustache and I really haven’t a clue who he might be. There’s also the obligatory shot of Pudsey Bear, with his poor bandaged eye – I wonder why he hasn’t got that mended yet? Year after year he has that red and white bandage on his eye – with some radio DJ (or at least I think he’s a radio DJ) sitting in a bath of baked beans, giving the photographer the thumbs up.
Oh Great, Now I Can Hear Dead People: What Would You Do if You Could Suddenly Hear Real Dead People? Page 7